


Say Something, Please

by petrichorfeels



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, M/M, zarry - Freeform, ziall, ziam, zouis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:59:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrichorfeels/pseuds/petrichorfeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Harry Styles works for the Malik family as their chauffeur and falls in love with their only son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say Something, Please

It has been several hours since Harry waited out here alone, sitting in the leather seat in the black Bentley like he's told. After all, he knows most people nowadays would do almost anything to be in his place right now. He should at least be grateful that he is working for the wealthiest family in this town which, is filled with filthy rich families who has plenty of cash to throw around. But the Malik's family isn't just rich, they're the rich of the richest. Most people either respect them like they're some kind of God and Goddess or are afraid of them which he can understand because well, it's human nature to be afraid of something that is more powerful than themselves plus strikingly beautiful too, right? Like the food chain. With that thought, Harry throws his head back and chuckles to himself. As a matter of fact though, he, himself cannot not say that he isn't the least bit intimidated by them as well. 

At last, the Maliks steps out of their admirable, alluring manor that you can't help but wonder what it'll be like living their lives. It would certainly make everything more effortless, easier, he supposes. 

 

Harry straightens out his tie and clears his throat and put on his best smile that he is worryingly good at more than anything. And he steps out of the Bentley expeditiously with confidence but careful enough to let a dash of nervousness still seek through. He knows full well that people tend to dislikes that somebody who reeks of confidence. And the chances are that they'll either fire you or treat you like shit - he means shit - for the rest of your lives which Harry cannot be more familiar with. So he tries his best to not to mess with that.

"Good morning, Mr Malik." Harry greets, follows by a bow like a true gentlemen he is. But politeness doesn't always reach people, especially people like Yaser Malik who is the head of the Malik family. He hasn't even earned a glance from the guy and Harry feels like a punching bag and he's punching all the air out of his lungs until he's a piece of nothing. And he detests that more than anything he's ever felt.

Why does he even try? 

He suddenly feels like throwing up when other members of the family starts to appear. If it's going to be like this for the rest of his lives until they get tired of him. Like a gold fish in a jar, they eventually gets tired of it and forgets. And then what happens? It dies and they get a new one. 

Nothing too sad.

He'd rather work in a bakery like he used to. At least someone cared and acknowledged him being there, Harry thinks, feeling the urge to just throw something and shout 'I quit!' like a mad man he is. But of course, HE won't let that happen.

"Calm your dick, Styles. Look at ya, it hasn't been two hours and you're already freaking the fuck out?" Harry imagine him saying it with the same smug, holier-than-thou smirk hanging on his lips - like he's ever at a place to judge - every time Harry does something, so smug that Harry wants to rip it right off of his fucking face every time he sees it. But since he's a non-violence plus it won't fit into his personality anyway, he won't. 

But for some erratic reason, he decides that this time he would listen to his best-friend and give it another hour. Just one though.

* * * *

"Zayn, Hurry up! You're gonna make me and Waliyha late again!" The little one, safaa says to his brother whom is just closing the door behind them. He does it with such elegance that yo would think judging solely from behind that he is somebody sophisticated and important. The head of the family perhaps. And the thought of him being an 18 year-old teenager would never even cross your mind. 

Harry did his research, of course. Zayn Malik, 18. Born on the 12th of January 1996, not that he needed to remember that, but he did. He's the only son of the family and he goes to an Art school. Yes, you'd think, an Art school? He could even go to Cambridge or Harvard if that's what he wanted with the money that he's family owns, but he choses an Art school, for Christ's sake. Thinking about it is making Harry feel even worse than a piece of nothing, maybe he'll cut it down to 23 minutes. But then Zayn turns around fully revealing his face and clothes to him. Harry's heart almost does a little dance on its own which is ridiculous because he's straighter than the pole next to his house. Zayn's wearing a black blazer with black skinny jeans and a black nirvana shirt and a pair of black comeback boots, all black except the writing for 'Nirvana' it's yellow. He looks casual, yet breathtaking. It's like as if he's from a famous Hollywood film but Harry can't quite put his finger on it but is also like watching an alien from another planet walking down the streets, wondering if all the aliens from his planet were like that too.

Harry has seen him before, on local newspapers but was never sexually attracted to him. He thought Zayn was just another ridiculously good-looking guy that you see on newspapers once in awhile. But now, he knows he was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Zayn is not just good-looking. He's beautiful. Heavenly, even. Something that you don't come across very often. Harry stares, starstruck from Zayn's dark dark hair that hang messily across his forehead which makes Harry wonder, did he style it like that on purpose? to his eyes, black with flecks of gold in it. Like the rest of his family but his, his was more abstruse, even mystical perhaps. And then to his plush, rosy coloured lips all the way down to his trousers zip and then stops dead. His pride doesn't let himself think any further. 

Harry doesn't know how long he has been staring but looks up anyway hoping, praying, not that he's a Christian or anything, but maybe he'll think about becoming one if his prayer is answered. But no, instead, he finds that Zayn Malik is staring at him, watching intently. With that, he almost loses his shit and curses out loud. And Is that a puzzled look or a I-know-what-you-did look that is plastered on his perfectly shaped face which God took his time painted? He hopes it's the first one. 

He feels hot and wonders if he looks it too. 

Probably.

And with a voice that startled him so much that his heart nearly jumps out of his skin causing him to blush ridiculously. 

"You alright?" Zayn says.

He nods and replies clumsily with a yes. 

Zayn still looks at him like he's waiting for Harry to do something. And then he realizes, he's waiting for him to open up the car door for him.

He's heart drops instantly, enough to cause him to stumble backwards a little. He blushes again thinking he's probably the most ill-mannered, dumb-as-fuck chauffeur Zayn's ever met and probably the last that he's ever going to meet. Clumsily, with his clammy, sweaty hands, hoping that they wouldn't leave a mark, he opens the car door for them to go in. The little ones first, then Zayn, (Mr and Mrs Malik drive a different car, of course) then himself. 

 

It's just Zayn and him now, as he dropped of the sisters at each of their schools. But Zayn's just happens to be the furtherest, not that Harry thinks it means anything. He doesn't. He looks up at the rearview mirror to find Zayn swiping his thumb cross his iPhone screen with a frown, not sensing the uncomfortable silence as Harry breaths a sigh of relief. Maybe he's used to it. The silence. Maybe his old chauffeur did this with him too. But how could he? With his heart pounding so hard against his ribs like its in a cellar desperately wanting to be out. And he let's it. He opens his mouth and let his heart do all the job.


End file.
